Thousands
by mostenoble
Summary: /No one breathes forever/A thousand next-gen drabbles following the Potter-Weasley-Lupin clan and their never-ending misadventures.
1. Fairy-Tale Villain

"Every fairy-tale needs a good old-fashioned villain" ~ Sherlock

For the '2016 Monthly Prompt Challenge' by NeonDomino. Day Two. Quote is not mine.

I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter. They belong to Steven Moffat and J.K Rowling. I do not own any of the characters here, either.

Slight? Trigger Warning: Lowkey mentions of anxiety, panic attacks and PTSD, although none are actually named.

* * *

"Why do _I_ have to be the bad guy?" Albus asked, voice dragging along like a ship anchor across the ocean floor, making a face at his older brother. James stuck his tongue out, as if Albus was purposefully not understanding the game.

"Every fairy-tale needs a good old-fashioned villain, Al," James reminded him, folding his arms. "And I'm the knight, so you have to be the bad guy." His face broke into a wicked grin. "Maybe if I get rid of your nos-"  
"I don't want to be Voldemort!" Albus yelled, pounding his fists on the carpet. "Why don't we just let Lily decide?"

"She's four. She doesn't know what she wants." James waved a dismissive hand. "You just go into her room and make her scared, and then I'll come and save her."  
"What if she doesn't get scared?" Albus asked, frowning. "What if she saves herself, and doesn't need you because you're bad and silly and really annoying?" James' hazel eyes got a glint in their corners, and he furrowed his eyebrows, scoffing and standing up and striding over to the bottom of the staircase, pointing up the thick, maroon-y stairs. Albus blinked at him. James shook his head.

"Just go up there and scare her, Al. It can't be hard. She's playing _Princess and Tea Party_ with Dad. She's not going to think it will happen." Albus pouted, but did as his brother said, clambering over to the staircase and then climbing up them, his brother smirking below, his eyebrows raised.

"I'll go get my sword!" He announced, running off. Albus cast a doubtful look down at James, but he was already gone. Slowly, the little boy swallowed and raised his arms above his head, sticking his hands out in odd angles. _How do I be scary?_ He curled his fat fingers into fists, trying to think of something that might possibly scare his little sister. Lily was hard to scare - or, at least, hard for Albus to scare. James could run up behind her and pick her up and fling her around, and Lily's red hair would spin around in circles and she'd kick her legs and scream until she recognised who it was, for then she would dissolve into giggles and fall to the floor, with James tickling her little armpits. Albus had tried the same thing once, and Lily had whacked him with a doll and marched off, eyes narrow and arms across her chest.

He sat down on the wooden floor for a moment, listening to the creak of the floorboards as Lily bounced in her bedroom at her tea party. He let his fingers stroke his chin, his lower lip trembling. James would fly into a rage if Albus hadn't scared her in time; he always did, fists flying and face red until Mum stepped in and pulled them apart, brandishing her wand and pointing it at the both of them, sending James to time-out with Aunty Luna (James thought Aunty Luna was weird, so sending him by Floo Powder to her house to spend five minutes with them whenever he was in trouble was supposed to increase his 'tolerance', whatever that was) and telling Albus she was 'very disappointed'. Albus usually cried; the weight of his Mum's disapproval felt like someone pulling him under the surface, or like being buried in sand. A pang struck Albus' throat, and then it closed up entirely. _What if I get into trouble for scaring Lily?_ He felt the blood under his wrists churn like an angry wave, and he shut his eyes, trying to calm himself down. Dad said he had the same problem, with calming down. _Breathe._ He opened his mouth and tried to suck in the air, tried to keep himself going, but now that he was thinking about it, it was harder. He felt like food was being shoved down his throat. The corners of his eyes became a fire, rain falling down his cheeks in soft tears. His heart smashed against his chest, as though it would break through his skin and shirt and land in his lap.

There was a scream behind him.

Albus jumped, crawling away, his soft crying turning into a shriek. His heart pounded, now. He couldn't see. Too many tears. Something hit his back. He fell. Down.

"JAMES!"


	2. Bad Luck, Lily

**For the 'Rebirth of the Daily Weird Prompt Thing' Competition, using the prompt 'bad luck'.**

 **I do not own Harry Potter, or any characters here that you recognise - they belong to J.K Rowling, and I am not her.**

 **TW: Suicidal thoughts, self-harm and attempted suicide, as well as depression.**

* * *

Lily's cursed, she's certain of it, she had been from a young age.

The water swirls around in the cauldron, twisting her reflection, twisting her stomach and make bile rise in the back of her throat.

 _Albus will be here soon. He finishes at nine. He's going to cry._

She uncaps the small little vial and throws the cork away, not bothering to hide it. It's not as though there is much point. It'd be too late by the time someone found it.

 _Fifteen minutes._

The potion hisses.

* * *

Eleven-year-olds didn't think about death, that's what they told her when she was little. Any questions were shut down. That wasn't how it worked. Only old people, with grey hairs and blind eyes and bad knees worried about death. Lily didn't have to. They told her that, every morning, as she ate her cereal and pondered if it made her a murderer. One day, her Father took both her hands and assured her it didn't, she could never kill anything and she was his special little girl and she was not a killer.

 _Does he still think that?_ She eyes her reflection in the mirror, brown eyes, and wonders how she dragged a cauldron into the bathroom. White scars line her wrists and she wonders how they didn't burst open with the effort. Lines have marred her face, too, and premature grey hairs spring from the fountain of scraggly red pouring from her skull. She looks at herself. _Bones._ _All bones, all skin and bones, so easily killed._

* * *

She was out of luck at thirteen. She'd screamed and screamed at James, flinging herself at him, attacking him, hexing him with every curse she knew and now she was in the Hospital Wing, teachers hovering over her, and the tears burnt her cheeks like acid as her father marched in, glasses askew and emerald eyes blazing. All left but him, and he shouted and she cried and cried and later, tried to die. James wasn't in trouble, James _never_ got into trouble, not even once. He'd asked her to keep it a secret but she couldn't, and her lips parted and Victoria Wood's name tumbled out and eyes flashed and then she was left alone, in the dark, hiccoughing into her bed sheets, the screams of disappointment echoing in her ears. James was in St. Mungo's, his hands had wavered whenever Lily shouted a spell, and he'd begged that she was his little sister and he couldn't hurt her, apparently, and Lily had fired and fired and fired and now her hands shook, just like James', and her ribs all broke at once as she muffled a scream.

* * *

Sweet little Lily in Hufflepuff, Lily who sewed and baked cookies. Most people never mentioned her attack on James, or danced around it. Lily would visit her god-brother and cousin and bring a plate of choc-chip muffins for little Dora and Remus. She even believed she was getting better; the monster fighting in her stomach, the one that ripped through her flesh and tore at her face until she let it overpower her - it had been gone for nearly a year, almost. Only when she was alone in her dormitories in the late night, only when Roxy snuck out and when Avalon finally took the hint, did it return. There was never anyone to inflict it on, apart from herself, and she was safe as long as she wore long sleeves.

* * *

Seventh year, she was sure she was in love. There was a girl. A girl she'd fought over and whacked her fists against the door for, a girl she'd screamed and cried and bled for who (probably) didn't realise Lily even existed. Talis Moon, from Ravenclaw, with long dark hair and dancing eyes. A strange name for a strange girl, some said, but Lily couldn't agree. Talis was pretty and wonderful and, maybe, just maybe a little odd, but that was okay (wasn't it?). Every time Talis walked past Lily's stomach would lurch and her heart would stop and she'd turn paler than the Fat Friar. At night, she grew hot and couldn't sleep as the brown girl spun around in her thoughts. And, rumour had it, Talis liked pretty girls too. Lily had practically shouted in glee at that point, although the thought did pass through her brain that it might not have been the smartest thing to do.

 _She'll kill me, if she finds me dead._ Lily twists her wedding ring, around and around her finger, heart stinging. Another tug. It comes off, and she presses it to her lips. "I'm sorry," she whispers, squeezing her eyes tight.

One day, in early March, she'd seen Talis walking arm-in-arm with a redhead boy with a round face and freckles, and the monster that inhabited Lily's stomach had screeched for blood but she'd sobbed instead as Hugo walked past with her crush in his arm. Later, she had tracked him down like she did James, but he ran instead of trying to reason; no matter what the others pretended, Hugo still had his eyes open. The monster howled for blood and so she fed it some of her own, and in Transfiguration, the next morning, Talis' eyes met Lily's and she tried to comfort her by telling her what a good boyfriend Hugo was, that she needn't worry and Lily threw herself off the Astronomy Tower that night and became the first person in four centuries to survive it. Just her luck, it didn't kill her.

Now she drags her bad leg across the floor and sits down, fumbling with the clasps on the brace. She'd screamed and screamed until they agreed not to give her a prosthetic leg. Eventually, the brace slides off and she leaves it on the floor, gripping the edge of the cauldron to pull herself up. She slips on the cool tiles and shrieks. Her leg crumbles beneath her, and her eyes only turn to the clock.

 _Five minutes, five minutes until he's home._

* * *

When people crowded by her bedside while she was in hospital, they told her how lucky she was. She'd never use her left leg again, and she'd already had surgery on a handful of her vital organs. She was to drink dragon's blood twice daily, and visit St. Mungo's twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays for check-ups for the next three years. The blood made her hair fall out, and when it grew back, it was a definite grey. It only grew red ten years after the jump. Talis started visiting, first with Hugo, and then they broke up when he announced he wanted to go overseas for a year. She still came after that, telling Lily odd tales her brain never quite captured, and she was just glad Talis would never know _why_ she jumped.

 _She still doesn't._ Lily considers her wand for a moment, twirling it in her hands, and then tosses it carelessly into the bubbling cauldron. _Poison._

Lily had believed she _was_ lucky, for a while, at least, despite the fact that her brother stormed out in March the year before and hadn't come back, and they didn't know if he ever was and his young ex-girlfriend tried to raise Lily's nephew and her Mum was cheating on her Dad. They let her sleep a lot, and she never fully graduated, she never completed her N.E. and that's how she worked in Honeydukes at the counter for sixteen years.

 _No more. I never go to that shop again._

Distantly, she heard the door creak open.

Breathe.

She dipped her face into the potion.


	3. Rock Me December

**"It's a big rock. I can't wait to tell my friends. They don't have a rock this big." - Buffy the Vampire Slayer**

 **I do not own Buffy or Harry Potter, and I own none of the characters you see here that you can recognise. If I did, I would be a multi-millionaire, probably, and would not be writing fanfic.**

* * *

Dominique was not going to put up with him, not today. He'd tried to celebrate their anniversary 'properly', and had taken her out on a date to the place he thought was the setting of their first date. He was wrong. She had never even been there, and it turned out he'd come here with some other girl a million years ago. It was absolute crap, and she wasn't having it. He then launched into the picnic, where he packed tomatoes and she nearly had an allergic reaction, and then he tried to woo her with tickets to Paris.

"Yay," she'd drawled, folding her arms and flicking her wand to tuck some hair behind her ears. "Let's go see my relatives! You want to go through the same thing with Aunt Gabrielle?" Merlin Nott could not talk to Dominique's mother, and Aunt Gabrielle had become notoriously more beautiful, and was closer to their age, anyway. He'd flushed and dragged her along to the next part of their six-month anniversary.

"Dom," he breathed, "I have something to ask you."

"What, Merlin?" She was becoming annoyed, thinking of Tara being trapped at the Lupins' place with a million other children. He knelt down on one perfectly suited knee, glancing up at her through thick eyelashes, and pulled something out of his pocket. Her jaw dropped. "Oh, by Godric."

His face broke into a smile as he opened the box. "Will you marry me?"  
Dominique stared, her words failing her, for once. She bit her tongue for a moment, then shrugged. "It's a big rock." He shot her a questioning look. "I can't wait to tell my friends. They don't have a rock this big. Yay."

Merlin swallowed. "It's a diamond!" Dominique spun on her heel and started striding off.

"For God's sake, Merlin, we've been dating six months! Just last April I got out of that mess with Cassie, and - no! The answer is no." She ran her fingers through her orange hair, easing out the band and throwing it on the ground, stomping on it in a black high heel. Merlin rose and ran towards her, puffing slightly as he folded the little box away.

"Ella! I love you!" He grabbed the corner of her leather jacket and she hit him square in the chest with her palm, eyes blazing. She was truly a figure in red and black, her ruddy face turning redder and redder by the second. Her thick, perfect eyebrows met in the middle as they furrowed. She stared at him, and stared, and the angry red sunset faded to a purpled dusk. Grey earmuffs contrasted her pale skin, and then soft snow began to fall. Dominique gazed upwards, as though they were suspended in a snowglobe, and then shook her head.

"I'm not Ella." She kept walking, away from him, and tears froze to her cheeks and, not for the first time, did her heart ache for Cassie. _She's gone. She doesn't want me. And tomorrow, tomorrow she's taking Tara away from me, for good._


	4. The Muggle Play

**"He's your first love. I intend to be your last. However long it takes."**

 **I do not own Harry Potter, or the Vampire Diaries. If I did, I'd have better things to do than write fanfiction.**

 **Warning: coarse language.**

* * *

"He's your first love. I intend to be your last. However long it takes."

The hand hit the perfectly hollow, high, aristocratic cheekbones with a resounding _slap._ A quick hand signal caught the two off-guard, and the redhead sighed with relief.

"Don't go on about waiting to be my _last love_ or some crap. That's not romantic. That's creepy. You sound like a psycho killer." Dominique stomped her foot into the ground, red hair swinging as she scowled at the muggle boy on his knees. As a 'punishment' for shoplifting some stuff from Flourish and Blotts (her parents told her it was _her_ fault she'd lost the books, and she'd be paying for them out of her own money), Dom had all of her money saved up 'confiscated' ("As if they'd give it back," she'd mumbled to her feet when they weren't at home. Knowing her Dad, he'd probably use it to buy her Mum more candles or something, and then make it up to Dom with hugs and kisses) and was sent to some muggle intensive acting course. Her Mum and drily commented that Dom ought to get more hobbies, and with Vic and Teddy around for dinner that instantly turned into a battlefield Dominique didn't want to be apart of. Eventually, Teddy, twisting a stray strand of pasta around his fork, suggesting acting, to match her 'drama queen' personality. Dom had kicked him in the shins, but no matter, she was still here, and despite the fact it was only her third lesson, she'd made plenty of enemies.

"It's the script!" The boy pleaded with her as she tried to remember his name. Murphy - Morgan - Mitchell - something like that, some boring name she'd never really bothered learning in the first place.

"Your character is a dickhead," Dom snapped, rolling her eyes and sauntering off stage. Her arms were crossed tightly and she pounded her boots into the ground every chance she got, hoping that if she was loud enough, Teddy would hear it and know sweet revenge was coming for him. Not that she didn't love Teddy - everyone loved Teddy, but he made Dom doubly glad her only brother was younger. She peeled the stupid purple dress they'd made her put on to be the Princess and threw it on the ground, beginning a hunt for her own clothes, of which she could only see a lacy singlet. There was something in the air that made the soft breeze turn to ice on her skin, and she cursed the big, groaning, muggle machine. Cooling Charms were much easier, and could be reversed by anyone. That was another punishment; no wand, even if (technically) she wasn't supposed to use it outside of the house. "Godric's third ass, where the hell are my clothes?" She stood on tiptoes to check the highest shelf, a crazy wooden thing at the topmost reaches of one of the corners. She grasped something that felt like fabric, and tugged, but couldn't see anything. She banged her foot loudly on the wooden floor (which was no doubt giving her frostbite, and doling out another punishment for shoplifting _two books_ ) and stormed into the opposite corner, headbutting it, as though that would help. Her forehead stung. "I'm such an idiot."

Something lingered in the corner of her eye, moving slightly, and she turned on her heel. The air seemed to be...moving about, somehow, and then there was a crack and her sister became partially visible as her Uncle's Invisibility Cloak completely fell off the shelf. Blond hair went flying and Dominique ripped off her shoes, aiming them at Victoire's head, who was laughing as she pulled Dom's clothes out of the bed.

"You deserved that!" Victoire protested weakly, "I _told_ you to watch the pie, and you _burnt it_!"

"You know I can't cook!" Dom screeched, hastily shoving her clothes on. "Just because your stupid fiance suggested that I go to this bloody school doesn't mean you have to torment me!"

She heard the stage manager knock on the door, and Victoire shuddered, shaking her silvery hair out behind her.

"Have fun!" There was another crack, and Dominique shrieked, cursing herself for ever believing she really needed another copy of _Misused Marked Artifacts and Muggle Answers._ She may as well just quit Defence Against the Dark Arts. If she got a T, maybe they'd kick her out.

The knock at the door came again, just as she fastened her belt, and then the doorknob twisted.

"FUCK!"


	5. Autumn Sea

**2016 Monthly Prompt Challenge - #24 [Season] Autumn**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any characters you recognise. J.K Rowling owns it. If I did own it, I'd probably have a British accent, which I do not.**

* * *

The crisp leaves fell from the trees along the rugged cliffs of Shell's Cottage, although they didn't bother Victoire Weasley. The leaves seemed content enough to leave her alone, instead embarking on journeys with the wind, swept up in the cool Autumn twists and chills and fluttering over the ragged countryside. Victoire had no interest in them, especially not today - her Mama and Daddy finally said she was old enough to go down to the beach without them as long as Teddy was with her, and of course he was. It was too cold to go swimming, so they'd clumsily made cheese sandwiches and (with help from Victoire's Daddy, of course) baked choc-chip muffins to take down with them, a stash of juice hidden beneath the picnic rug in their basket. There was a steep stone staircase they had to navigate before they reached the sandy shore, and the wind howled in their ears as the clambered down, almost slipping a few times as the salty sea spray sloshed up the beach and the breeze flung it at the young pair.

The sun was shining today, although the fluffy clouds hid it from view, making odd shadows dance along the beach. Little Victoire's legs began to ache as she reached the midway point, and her fingers had nearly cut-off Teddy's circulation as she clutched his wrist tightly. Strong gusts threw themselves at the two and they would slam into the rocky cliffside behind them. Teddy had a small cut in his shoulder from grabbing Victoire when the wind tried to whisk her away; she'd kicked at it and held the sharp wall so tightly she thought her fingers would fall off. They continued the descent, Victoire's hands wrapped tightly around the basket, and eventually, they arrive at the sand.

The picnic blanket was spread out and the food shared, and Teddy pulled a tattered Gryffindor scarf he found at Uncle Harry's place out of his jacket and wraps it around the both of them, trying to keep warm as the sea breeze blows in off the icy water. Teddy dressed warmly but Victoire threw on a light cardigan over her favourite rose-pink dress, and now she shivered as Teddy laughed at her.

"You're so _silly,"_ the nine-year-old panted, "it's _Autumn._ Of course it would be cold!" Victoire whacked him lightly as they finished their muffins and then the two turned to stare at the little cottage teetering on the cliff face, puffs of steam slowly winding out of the chimney. They watched the clouds pass and they laid back, seeing shapes that weren't quite there and then throwing sand in each other's faces. Teddy grabbed Victoire and scooped her up with ease, stretching his legs out as his hair mimicked the Weasley red that Victoire hadn't inherited, and then threw her down the sandhills until she rolled into the ocean, kicking and screaming and now soaking wet, and she attacked in hugs and splashes until he was covered in a thin sheen of icy Autumn water.

"You're so _silly,"_ the seven-year-old mimicked, "It's _Autumn._ You should've bought swimmers."

The waves rolled over them as the two dived in.


	6. Not a Dollhouse Family

**For the 2016 Monthly Prompt List Challenge – #20** **Dollhouse**

 **Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling, and by extension, do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would've already met the Golden Trio's actors, which I have not.**

* * *

Dominique was lounged on the couch of her two-bedroom apartment, watching her two eldest children play together – or, sort of. Tara Finnigan-Weasley was the eldest, having turned eleven not two days before and Kate Simth-Weasley was three and Jay Simth-Weasley was barely two months. Tara had come to stay with Dominique yesterday, excitedly rushing in to show her Mama and kind-of stepfather her Hogwarts letter. Kate had whined about wanting to go as well, and for a few minutes the two had bonded over that.

Now Kate was attempting to play with an old dollhouse gifted to Dom by Victoire, complete with glass windows and a little string-pulled elevator with a water tank you could fill to get running water and lights that flicked on and off, though Kate's playing with it mainly consisted of her throwing her dolls at the house and trying to shove her stuffed pygmy puff into the tiny living room while Tara scolded her and tried to re-arrange the furniture. Jay was out with Aidran at Louis' house to see one of Louis' boyfriends, Jason Lybald. Dominique hadn't asked for the specifics; so long as she wasn't stuck taking care of three kids under the age of twelve, she was happy.

"Mama, why is Kate so stupid?" Tara's voice was sharp, and filled with all the condescension an eleven-year-old could possess. "She thinks pygmy puffs go in the _house._ They only do that if they're little, not big and giant and foofy." Dominique didn't know what 'foofy' meant, but was far too comfortable on the moth-eaten lounge to ask. Tara was staring at her expectantly, Dom's own blue eyes reflected back at her combined with the messy dust-brown Finnigan hair and both families' freckles.

Dominique rolled her eyes. "Just _play_ with her, Tara. She's your sister, and you never get to see her. Be nice." She waggled a finger at her eldest daughter, and Tara stood up, bottom lip out, folding her arms across her chest with that blazing look that somewhat reminded Dom of her Aunt Ginny. Sighing, she moved herself into a some-what sitting position and just stared at the little girl in front of her. How was she supposed to make Tara believe Kate was her sister when they saw each other once every six or seven months? They were more like second or third cousins than siblings. _Even with my cousins, I saw them nearly every day._

"Kate's not really my _sister,"_ Tara piped up, voicing all of Dominique's concerns. All the blood drained out of Dom's face, pulse racing and throat burning. There was no parenting book for this - there wasn't _anything_ she could do. The closest thing was to ring up her Aunt Ginny and ask about what had happened with her kids - the Potters and Scamander kids had became step-siblings, and that had caused a fair bit of drama at the time. _It wasn't the same, though._ "Even Grandma Lav says so. She says that Kate can't be my sister because I have you - my Mama, and then I have my Mum, whereas she has you as Mama and then a Dad." Tara's eyes had turned the colour of ice, cheeks red and eyebrows narrow.

"Mamama!" It was Kate breaking the silence as she threw the toy Pygmy Puff at the dollhouse. In one swift movement, it toppled over sidewards, the glass windows shattering, the water spilling out of the tank and across the carpet. Dom's eyes widened and she felt all the air rush out of her lungs as she raced to get Kate away from the broken glass that littered the now-stained carpet. One girl in her arms, one girl glaring and a baby starting to cry, her mouth turned dry. The same thought raced through her head, pounding in time for her heartbeat, her legs turning numb, almost collapsing.

 _My family is falling apart._


	7. Red Rose Wrecks

**For the 2016 Monthly Prompt List Challenge - #31**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, I'm not that clever.**

* * *

Scorpius panted, silver hair falling over his eyes, sweat beading across his forehead before trickling across his high cheekbones and down his face. There was a shout from down the hall and he dug his fingers into the wall behind him, hoping he would vanish, or maybe just suddenly become a chameleon.

"Come out, come out, Malfoy!" The voice was older, and deeper and taunting, and it wasn't hard to picture the muss of dark hair and the brown eyes as he flounced around. _For all they accuse me of continuing my father's legacy and getting by on the Malfoy name, he certainly does on his._ "Come out wherever you are, you little shit!" His wrists raced rapidly as he wiped them on his robes. _So much for Gryffindor, home of the brave._ The thumping on the floor became louder and the lights of their wands danced across the stone walls, portraits screwing up their faces and moaning as they opened their eyes. He chewed his lip, praying they would be silent, and also wondering where the Potter boy had decided to hide his trunk.

"Excuse me, boy!" One portrait, with a red background a pompous blonde man in dress robes, was staring right at him. Scorpius moved his finger to his lips, using the other to run it across his throat. _Talk again, and you're dead!_ "What are you doing out so late at night?"

"I knew it! Around that corner, James! We can get him, and then he'll _never_ find it!" Desmond McLaggen's voice floated down the hall and Scorpius barely suppressed a shudder. As far as he knew, the McLaggens weren't unlike the Parkinsons - their mottos seemed to be ' _suck up to everyone and anyone'._ And so Desmond McLaggen had stalked James Potter and Fred Weasley for as long as anyone could remember.

"Shut up!" It was Fred, and there was a _thud_ and then Desmond's groan. "Don't you know anything about _pranking,_ idiot? You gotta be quiet. That's the gold rule. Well, that, or you throw a Decoy Detonator at them." Scorpius almost snickered, and had to cover his mouth with his hand. Louis murmured something that Scorpius couldn't quite catch, which was nearly ironic; Scorpius wasn't supposed to hear _any_ of them. Naturally it was the Slytherin with enough brains not to shout his plans.  
"Everyone, get under the cloak, that's how Granddad did it!" James, of course, the ringleader of the group. The footsteps grew louder, and Scorpius flattened himself against the wall, moving slowly, almost on tiptoes as he tried to move down the corridor soundlessly. His wand was tucked away in his robes somewhere, and he wasn't lucky enough to have a map, unlike the gang of Gryffindors (plus a Slytherin). _I'm an idiot,_ Scorpius cursed himself. He'd known that snarking at James Potter in the middle of the Great Hall wasn't the greatest idea in the world, but he hadn't expected them to bribe Ridley Jordan into helping them sneak into his dormitory in the middle of the night and then proceed to _chase_ him around the school.

 _If Father heard about this, he'd kill me. And then he'd kill James, and his dad, too._

Footsteps pounded, as though someone was running very fast, and Scorpius dug his fingers into the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping desperately it would end quick enough. Panting accompanied it, although it couldn't quite make out who it was - it sounded a fair bit higher than James or any of his cronies' voices. Slowly, cautiously, he slightly lifted one eyelid and a flash of frizzy red hair raced past him.

"Your trunk is down the hall, Scorpius, in the roof, you'd best go get it!" She rounded the corner, pulling out her wand, and a shout of surprise accompanied it. He opened his eyes and stared at the spot she had disappeared towards them. _What does she want from me?_ Rose was in his house, and his year, and they'd seen each other around before, talked to each other, worked on a project together, but they'd never been... _friends._ Rose had always been best friends with her cousin, Albus, in Slytherin, and Cassidy Malone, and nobody had ever liked Scorpius. Why.. _how had she even known about it_? The Weasley girl must've been smarter than Scorpius had originally thought to find out about James' plans.

"The hell, Rosie?" Fred's voice boomed in the quiet hallways. _Quiet is the golden rule, eh?_ Slowly, he took small steps around the corner, and was blinding by a burst of white light. Louis' wand had fallen to the ground and he was screaming, whacking Desmond with a bookbag, and Desmond was crying; Fred was scrambling off the floor and Rose was landing solid punches in the middle of James' face, blood spurting from his nose and mouth as he screeched every swearword in the book, and a lot that probably didn't make it into the final copy. James tried to get to his feet, but Rose kicked him the guts and he howled as he fell to the ground. Desmond finally broke free of Louis and ran for it down the hall. The blond now spotted Scorpius and ran towards him. Scorpius sidestepped him slowly, eyes transfixed on the vision in red, Rose Weasley. James finally hit the ground, unmoving, and Fred had retreated against the wall. In a sharp movement she pinned Louis against the wall, tripping him up, and Scorpius stared at her in the wake of construction.

"We aren't even friends," his mouth opened and closed to the point that he rather resembled a goldfish. Rose's eyebrows furrowed as she chucked a glance at him, shrugging.

"Who says we're not, then? You, Scorpius?" _Not Malfoy. Scorpius._ A sudden bloom of pleasure opened in his chest as he shook from the aftermath of watching her fight. He wasn't a big advocate of violence, not usually - although, from now on, he decided, he was a big advocate of Rose Weasley.


	8. Paper Airplanes

**For the Rebirth of the Daily Weird Prompt Thing, using 'paper airplane'**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd fix the Epilogue, and it would be canon.**

* * *

Hugo had always favoured his Granddad Weasley, for some reason; Rose always loved Nana Granger, and whenever the two were babysat they'd usually go and stay with their favourite accordingly. So, when his Mummy and Daddy had to go to the Ministry Ball with Uncle Harry and Aunty Ginny, Rose went to Nana Granger's to read and Hugo elected to go and stay with Granddad Weasley.

As usual, he was welcomed into the Burrow in an odd flurry of hugs and kisses and pick-ups and rushing and cheek-pats, and Hugo returned every sentiment with glee. His sister may have preferred the quietness and serenity of Nana Granger's, but Granddad Weasley's was always bustling with people - or, at least, most of the time. It was a Tuesday night, however, and for the first time in his memory he was left alone with Nana and Granddad Weasley. The Potters had been there earlier in the day, and then hurried off to get ready for the Ball. Teddy was baby-sitting them for the first time, and they'd offered for Hugo to stay with them, too, but he'd shyly declined with a tiny shake of his head, brown curls bouncing.

Nana Weasley had gone for a nap, leaving Hugo and his Granddad to their own devices. Naturally, they had a look at the old blue flying car in the garage, and Granddad lifted little Hugo up on his knee and whispered the story of Dad and Uncle Harry flying it to school when a house-elf trapped them outside the platform. Hugo's bottom lip trembled at the beginning but he was giggling by the end of it, and Granddad bounced him up and down and up and down as he reached out his chubby hands at the car, at one point managing to brush the mirror with his fingers.

And then came the best part, when they went into the main room, with pots clanging as they washed themselves, Celestina Warbeck booming out of the radio and moving photos of the ever-expanding family grinning from every wall. Granddad Arthur had long figured out the best way to entertain Hugo, and he only had to pull out a few sheets of paper for the little boy to start clapping with joy. Slowly, the pair folded them, Granddad occasionally having to smooth down Hugo's creases or help him with a fold, and eventually they had an army of paper airplanes that Granddad charmed to sail through the air.


	9. Swept Away

**For the 2016 Monthly Prompt List Challenge - Broomstick**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I would use twitter more often.**

* * *

"What would you want with a _broomstick,_ Hugo?" Rose folded her arms across her chest. "You don't even _like_ Quidditch." Hugo pouted slightly at his elder sister, tapping the glass carefully, peering in at the _Firebolt IV_ model.

"James says everyone at Hogwarts plays Quidditch, and that people will bully me if I don't." The boy didn't take his eyes away from the glistening broom, and Rose had to tug on his arm to finally get him to look at her. They had similarities, namely the bushy hair, though where Hugo's was short, brown and curly, Rose's was long and orange-red and rather straight, albeit messy. Their dress sense also marked them to be worlds apart; Hugo was dressed in a plaid red and white shirt with grey cargo shorts and impeccable boat shoes, accessorised with a small, strange bowtie, while Rose had thrown on a baggy _Chudley Cannons_ hoodie and had tight-fitting pink shorts paired with Uggs for her bottom half.

"He meant that _he'd_ bully you if you didn't play Quidditch, stupid. His only ambition in life is to fill the Gryffindor Quidditch team with people he's related to." She rolled her eyes at her younger brother, tugging again at his arm, but his eyebrows were furrowing and he resisted her attempts to drag him away.

"Is _that_ why you refuse to play Quidditch, even though you like it?" He asked, voice riddled with curiosity. Rose stomped her foot in impatience.

" _Duh._ Now, if you want to drool over that broomstick _inside_ we'd best find Mum and Dad so they don't go ballistic and accuse us of sneaking off. I need to get some broom polish to throw at James during some part of the year, and I also want to check out the new Quodpot calendar." Rose succeeded in removing his body from the glass window and dragged him through the crowd, ducking and diving to avoid a menagerie of their parents' colleagues, relatives, school friends and their families. Hugo stumbled behind her, nearly tripping over his feet half the time.

"Quodpot?" He echoed her earlier statement. "What do you want with Quodpot? That's the American version of Quidditch, isn't it?"

A blush crept up Rose's cheeks. "Yeah. They've got the winning players of last year's season posing with their..brooms." Hugo beamed.

"Oh, can I see their brooms? Do you think that if I got a fancy one from America, no-one would bully me?"

Rose's eyes widened as she shot a death-glare at her little brother. "Come on, Hugo," she grumbled, "Mum and Dad are waiting."


	10. In The Darkness

**For the Rebirth of the Daily Weird Prompt Thing [Competition] with 'grim'**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd have a better quality computer.**

* * *

They had all dressed sombrely for the occasion, knowing that doubtlessly in other families it was a most grievous occasion. The twenty-eight year old had attempted to mimic the usual funeral style, albeit the black was more for herself than for any sister she had lost. The idiot had gone and killed herself on Molly's _birthday;_ the dinner party had been ruined by a hiccoughing, shrieking, inconsolable Albus apparating into the middle of the milling crowd in the Nott Mansion. He was covered in a fine layer of blood and sticky clothing, and he'd screamed for Molly, falling to his knees - Lucy was dead, there was blood everywhere and Lucy was gone.

Molly pulled the dark blazer closer around her, shivering slightly as an icy wind rose from the naked, spiny trees with their twisted trunks and unseeing eyes. The branches thinned to a point, reaching desperately for the sunlight they craved to survive, shrivelling and withering away. _Perhaps that was what happened to Lucy._ She had always been a slip of a thing, with thinning brown hair that fell in dead-straight clumps, grey eyes that were almost colourless and a bony figure, ribs always showing and fingers long and spidery, veins flittering beneath her skin with careful amounts of blood. They'd said she had an iron deficiency when she was seven, and she had taken potions for it every day since, and soon after they realized she was anaemic as well. Without the Potions whipped up by the Healers she would die; every heartbeat seemed to be on borrowed time, every sip a delay, not a solution.

Slowly, they stepped over the threshold into the cavernous church, stained-glass stories guiding muted sunlight into the room, candles floating eerily around people's heads. The very front row seated Percy Weasley, in a black suit, and his wife Audrey in a long dress. Clutching her husband, Arthur Nott's arm, she made her way to the designated seat and sat down, the stone floors sucking the warmth out of her. Dark shadows echoed across the walls, and in the distance, she heard Victoire and Teddy shush their little son Chrys. Icy breath crept up her neck as the last few people filed in, all family. As she cast a glance around, all Molly could see was family. Lucy had had no friends, no lovers, no ex-study-partners or colleagues or admirers or acquaintances. Her own family harboured a secret distaste for her, barring possibly Albus.

"We've been here before," Arthur whispered, and Molly furrowed her eyebrows at him. It was true; not two years gone had Lucy's baby died, a little girl of just four. _On the same day._ Ryx had died on Molly's twenty-sixth birthday, Lucy on Molly's twenty-eighth. Straightening her tie slightly, she stared straight ahead, looking past the wooden coffin that carried her sister's fragile, broken, shattered body. _She's been dead since she was born, how can anyone cry for her?_ It was true, Lucy had been born dead and they'd revived her with complicated magic. It was Molly's earliest memory, her heart thump-thumping when they told her the baby was dead, and they didn't know if they could save it. Softly, Molly's hand touched her stomach, thinking of the babe to be born in nearly four months. _Born dead._

An old wizard with wrinkled skin and dark eyes made his way to the little stage-type thing, black robes billowing behind his back. Molly bit her lip, knowing there was probably a name for such a thing, but she hadn't been in a church since Ryx's funeral, in which she wasn't paying much attention to the layout of the place, or when she was very little, with Grandma and Grandpa White. Molly had been about seven, Lucy maybe four or five, and the two girls' grandparents had signed them up for a little Nativity with all the other little kids in the church. Molly had been Mary, and there had been a few lines to learn, and a costume she couldn't make herself, whereas Lucy had maybe been one of the hay bales. Curled up in a ball, covered in straw, you would've never known she was there, and nobody did. All the other churchgoers in their Sunday best with ribbons and long skirts and big smiles came to congratulate Molly, because she was so _articulate_ and did _so well_ as Mary, but it was as if Lucy was invisible. She'd hidden behind their grandmother, burying her head into her middle, tiny, thin little shoulders shaking.

 _No more._ Lucy had hidden away for the final time, slipping beyond the black veil, shrouded in death. Molly's fingers gripped the buttons of her blazer tight. They'd probably let her look at the body at some point, but it didn't seem necessary; Lucy in death would look much like Lucy in life - it wasn't as though her heart ever pounded like the others' did, it wasn't as though she'd ever had rosy cheeks, red with the throes of living, it wasn't as though Lucy's limbs had ever pointed in the right directions, it wasn't as though Lucy had ever panted or gasped for air. Her stomach twisted as she thought of the little sister she barely cared for.

The light changed, slowly, the sunlight slowing, the beams barely pricking the windows. The candles shimmered and burned brighter, as though to lead a ghost procession of people who loved Lucy. The church's roof was high, almost impossibly high, but not in the comforting way of Hogwarts' classrooms and halls and dormitories. It was a highness that made you wonder, if you were to climb up, would you ever come back down? It was deep and dark and forbidden, although not in the forbidden that enticed Adam and Eve to the fruit, a picture that rained down on Molly in a hue of multicolour.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned, her father's face pale and grim, eyes small and lips curved down.

"Lucy is my daughter, and your sister," it was said in a breath, but it was all that needed to be said.

And then the funeral began.


	11. Immortal Family

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not J.K Rowling. If I was, I probably wouldn't be an Aussie.**

 **For the 2016 Monthly Prompt List Competition - #26 Family.**

* * *

She, Roxanne and Hugo were the last ones left.

Seventh year, September 1st, an Autumn day with grey clouds mumbling across the low sky, bringing with them floods of tears. Neither Lily or Hugo wanted the fuss; in first year it had been nice, but the seventeen-year-olds didn't need a marching band of cousins to cheer them on. Almost everyone was coming to see them off; James was in Romania, apparently, with Uncle Charlie and Molly had to work, but apart from that, they had enough people to field three Quidditch teams who had come to see them off. Apparently it was exciting to see them go, a reminder to them all of their days at Hogwarts.

There was Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, and Victoire and Teddy, and their children, Dora at two, scooped up in her mother's arms with a mane of messy, silvery hair and Remus sucking his thumb, at a little over a year old. Dominique was there, with red hair twisted up into a messy knot, her wife Cassandra holding little Tara to their hip, who was scowling down at her baby cousins, being oh-so-mature at three, able to walk and talk and nearly even go to the bathroom by herself. Then there was Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey, both high enough in their positions to comfortably take the morning off, leaving any filing to their secretaries, grey hair prominent on both of their heads. Lucy was there, too, hugging little Ryx to her chest, cheeks red as the two-year-old buried her head in her mother's bust. Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, Roxanne's parents, were there, George in a floppy orange sweater made by his mother and Angelina with sleek hair and pursed lips, twirling her daughter's newest broomstick between her fingers. Fred had bought along his girlfriend, Callie Toy, a well-known, popular muggle-born girl who had made a name for herself in journalism. Aunt Hermione was elegant as always, with eyebrows furrowed, discussing choices of textbooks with Hugo and what classes he really needed to excel in to become a good Healer, because the internships were - Lily stopped eavesdropping on the conversation. Uncle Ron was standing awkwardly next to Rose, who was dressed in a blazer with buttons missing and an undone tie. Her best friend for life, Scorpius Malfoy, was next to her, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shooting anyone present who had never scolded Rose for associating with a Malfoy a warm smile. Then there was Lily's own mother and father, who she was trying to avoid after their fight last week, and Albus, who was dressed in dark colours and was leaning against one of the platform walls, green eyes giving away his hiding place.

Lily pulled up her hood and tried to hide her red hair, trying to inch away from the milling crowd of relatives, sidestepping the Corners as they rushed past, Michael in particular trying not to meet Lily's mother's eyes. Slowly, she made her way to where Albus was standing, flicking her tongue lazily. There was still twenty minutes before they were off, and she didn't feel like spending the time grinning at relatives she could barely be bothered to care about.

"Hey, Al," her voice was a whisper, and she herself tried to not be noticeable; but with features much more striking than her older brother's, it had become difficult. She had bright red hair and brown eyes, and was short and curvy and paler than a ghost, with a button nose that oftentimes she tried to sit her reading glasses on. Her jaw was all sharp angles, as were her eyes, cut in the shape of almonds, not unlike her father's. Albus was tall with a round face and a slightly darker complexion, with no hoardes of freckles scattered across his face.

"Lily," he nodded, just as quiet, pushing most of his weight onto the bricks. There was a large bubble of sound circling the hub of Potter-Lupin-Weasleys, the sea of redheads getting shot strange stares as passers-by hurried past, dragging suitcases behind them with pens tucked behind their ears.

"Why'd they all come?" The words were out in a sudden flurry, though she knew the answer already; it would be a long wait until this time came again. James' ex-girlfriend, Victoria Wood, and his son weren't here, but nobody dared count them anyway, making the eldest Tara instead of Ory. Eight or nine years would pass until they had another child off to Hogwarts, and who knew if everyone would still be able to come, then. Grandma and Grandpa Weasley hadn't even been able to make it today, complaining sorely of backs and necks and stomachs, though apparently Grandma was preparing lunch. Lily swallowed and decided to make another attempt at talking, perhaps without being pathetic this time. "We aren't that special, we aren't that great. They didn't all gaggle like this with you, or with -" _James,_ "-Lucy, or Molly or Vic or even Teddy."

Albus shrugged at his little sister in return. "This is the end. They're old. Uncle Bill's fifty-five in November. He'll be...sixty-two when Tara goes." His eyes danced around, eventually falling on his sister. "Grandma and Grandpa couldn't be here. Maybe Uncle Bill won't be able to for Tara." He fiddled with something on his jacket and Lily cast her glance aside, heart slowing a little.

"Sixty-two's not that old," she whispered.  
"Grandma and Grandpa Potter were twenty-one. Sixty-two is a lot older." The world stung Lily's wrists like rose thorns. She'd never known her father's parents, her own father had barely known them. The thought of Uncle Bill...It wasn't one she wanted to entertain, and suddenly she remembered why avoiding Albus' place had seemed to be for the best - not that there was anywhere better to go. Albus was in London, in a little leering apartment in a dark alleyway that she always pulled her wand out in, and her parents - she was living with them, and loved them, but they fought more and more, tongues exploding and words hurled like hexes and sometimes she sat in the cupboard to drown it all out. _Dead._ The word was like a pulse, she needed to feel it and touch it and _have it_ but she couldn't, and it drove her insane. For all the times in the deep dark she smudged the lines of mortality it terrified her still.

"I want our family to be alive forever." Albus frowned slightly, eyes widening as he rested a hand on his sister's shoulder.  
"No one breathes forever, Lily. Nobody can see forever. Not physically."

"Physically?" Her eyebrows creased.  
"There are other ways to be immortal."


	12. Tribute

**For the 2016 Monthly Prompt List Challenge (February) - #6.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am not J.K Rowling. If I was, Slytherin would've been featured wayyy more in the books.**

* * *

Teddy had never had a 'cool uncle'.

Both of his parents were only children. His grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa Lupin, supposedly had siblings, once upon a time, but they were very old and very dead. Gramps Tonks had been, again, an only child. It was only Gramma who had any siblings, one of whom was dead and had killed his mother, and the other was a Malfoy.

When he was little, he had convinced himself that he didn't care. He went 'round to the Potters four times a week from the age of about five until he left for Hogwarts, and he had Gramma. He and Victoire used to play together all the time, and Fleur would tuck him in just as Ginny or Gramma would. They were the only family he needed, when he was a little boy; and then he left for Hogwarts and got a whole new family in the form of his brand-new roommates, Mitchell McCall becoming as close to him as James and Albus ever had been. Certainly, Mitchell reacted better when, in fourth-year, he confessed his crush on a girl called Akira Chang, who was the grade below them. Mitchell had actually given him _advice,_ instead of teasing in warbling voices about 'Teddy has a crush!'.

It wasn't to say that he didn't love the Potters, or the Weasleys, or his friends, but sometimes he wanted blood relatives other than his Gramma. His mother and father had run off to die in a war when he was three weeks old, and the only time he felt as though they were there was on May 2nd, the anniversary of their deaths when everyone would gather at Hogwarts to remember. When he was little, he hadn't cared at all about them - the getting up in the middle of the night for the midnight ceremony, to mark the commencement of the battle, the ten minutes of silence, the speeches and the final wand-lit tribute at one a.m just seemed like an annoyance, and they'd scoop him up and take him back home, his sleeping patterns thrown out for the next few days as he screamed against his naps. As he'd gotten a little older, the sadness started to sink a little, casting weights on his shoulders, shadows flicking across the walls as he wondered what his parents would look like if they still lived. Nonetheless, Victoire's usually-muted birthday celebrations in the afternoon were usually what he looked forward to - he hated being expected to mourn for people he'd never remember.

Once he was at school, it got worse.

In the earliest times he remembered, they had a student called Dennis Creevey making the speech on behalf of Hogwarts, talking about the beloved brother he lost. Then he graduated and there was a shy girl who had been due to start Hogwarts that September in 1998, and she spoke about the horrible twist in her gut whenwith her two older sisters died, Hufflepuffs who fought valiantly and lied about their age, being only thirteen and fifteen at the time. Teddy had been called in to see the Headmaster on a bright Spring day, early March, and had been asked to write a speech to say. It had hurt him, stung him a little, but to look out and see the tears and anger and blubbering of those who had fought in the battle he felt nothing. They all treated him as though he shared their pain, but the parents he never knew did not leave a hole in his heart, or drown him in tears - it just left him with a _what if._

Teddy had always felt alone, and stupid and ungrateful, as if the entire world would hate him if they knew what he really felt.

* * *

Teddy had never had a 'cool uncle' until Charlie.

It was the first memorial Charlie had ever been to, a cold morning in 2015, not long after Teddy's seventeenth. Charlie had obviously tried to dress appropriately, and failed fairly harshly - black dragonhide leather jacket, jeans and buckled boots, with one earring that made him look like a pirate and orange hair in a ponytail that fell past his face, a bushy beard catching crumbs from the crumpet he bought along, matched with a swollen purple eye and burn marks across his hands. Teddy had found him when he wondered outside just after the vigil, hair and eyes dark, in matching clothing, head down, fists jammed in pockets.

"You too?" Charlie had waved his hand airily, the cigarette sparking a little, breathing out smoke. "It sucks to mourn someone you don't know, eh?"

Teddy shifted his weight, biting his lip. "Fred was your brother."

"They were your parents. It doesn't matter, does it? I was at Hogwarts when Fred was...six? And then I ran off to Romania, chasing dragons." He grinned, showing all his teeth, and for once, Teddy nearly smiled back. "I'm more here to mourn your mother than anyone, I'll be honest. We were in the same year, at Hogwarts, we took Care of Magical Creatures together. She was a laugh, your mother, never known anyone like her. Last saw her at Bill and Fleur's wedding, she was there with your dad - I was best man. I didn't know at the time, I don't think she did, but she might've been pregnant with you, if my maths is correct. Funny that." He laughed bawdily. The corners of Teddy's mouth turned up.

"I...I feel bad." He twisted his wand in his pocket, keeping his fingers locked together, almost as if they were webbed. "They're my parents. I should miss them, I should want them to be here." _I should love them, but I don't. I don't even know who they are._ "I feel like I'm not a good person."

Charlie shrugged. "Maybe you aren't. Same could be said for me. I went to Hogwarts when Ginny was three. She never knew me, or Bill. We were the older brothers, sure, but we were gone before she could use the bathroom, or button up her coat. We love her, yeah, but she's never really been her sister - we've never really been her brothers. Or at least, I haven't. Bill's been living here for - seventeen years? Ginny sees me every few years. I think we've met...Fifteen times in the last thirty-one years. And you," Charlie rubbed his neck, "your parents didn't raise you. They didn't teach you to walk, and talk, and see you off to school, they didn't buy you your first wand or help you with your robes or send you candy and a letter with their favourite owl when you got sorted." He pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with a quick motion of his wand, offering it to Teddy. "Sure, if we'd had the chance, things would've been different. I would've been there with Percy and the twins and Ron on Ginny's first day of school, I would've made her breakfast one time and taught her how to fly. Your parents would've taken you to Quidditch games, they would've done it all..."

Teddy took the cigarette carefully with one hand, rolling it lightly between his fingers with a vague curiosity.

"You have a family, Teddy. You have people who love and care about you. I know it's not the same when faced with my family, with the big brood of us, all brothers and sisters and cousins...You're my nephew just as much as all the others are. I think I've seen you about as much as I see them." He laughed again, and Teddy realised, for the first time on May 2nd, he was starting to cry.


End file.
